


Scabs

by CinderScoria



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 17:38:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4358264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinderScoria/pseuds/CinderScoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack has a scare and Eugene is totally a hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scabs

**Author's Note:**

> EHHHH this is iffy. I don't do much sex stuff, so I sort of edged around it for the prompt, but I should probably just say attempted non-con basically. Because that's literally as far as it got. I'm a loser. A very asexual loser.

“Can’t we talk about this?” Jack pleads, yanking his wrists against the belt as the man finishes tightening it. It isn’t rope, but that’s not exactly saying much seeing as it holds just as well. He’s still whoozy and his temple’s still bleeding from the blow that rendered him unconscious for a minute or two. The man puts a heavy hand on his head, almost affectionate as he tugs his fingers through his red curls. Jack hisses and yanks against his grip. When twisting proves futile, he heaves ragged breaths and settles for glaring at his captor instead.

He’d come from out of nowhere and apparently did not take pleasure in Jack rifling through his cabin. To be fair Jack had been under the impression the owner was dead and gone by now. He hadn’t expected to be grabbed by the hair and slammed face first into the counter. Nor tied with his own belt and stripped to nothing but his torn jeans, for that matter.

His attacker is much, much bigger than him, which is discouraging. Jack is fairly scrappy in his own right, but even if he hadn’t been taken by surprise he isn’t sure he would’ve been able to beat him. The man is bulkier than he is and his eyes are a bit wild, his jet black hair sticking up irregularly to finish off the look. Jack's concerned about his mental health. Also if he even speaks English.

The man lumbers to the door and disappears for a second. Jack takes the time to yank again at the bindings, which don’t give, and take in the house. It’s been basically torn apart, and he grimaces as he tries to guess exactly how that happened. Zombies. Or this short handed Neanderthal.

Said Neanderthal returns seconds later, apparently satisfied that it’s only Jack intruding on his property. Jack hides a smile–he hasn’t found Eugene, and the relief brings giddiness that is entirely inappropriate given the situation.

“So…” He huffs, rolling to his knees with mild difficulty. “Come here often?”

The man grunts and starts going through his pack, making Jack frown. “Please be careful with that,” he grumbles. “I only ripped the last one a week ago.”

He empties the pack and, right before Jack’s eyes, destroys every bit of supplies he has. Food rations, eaten. The .38 revolver, whisked away. Clothes, torn apart. Jack grinds his teeth and tries to breathe through the rage like Eugene taught him, but the man won’t look at him and he and Eugene  _worked_ for that, damn it, and didn’t they have enough problems with the undead taking over the planet to be bickering amongst themselves and stealing each other’s supplies?

“Hey,” he snaps, which somehow gets the man’s attention. He blinks owlish, coal black eyes at him as Jack tries to push himself to his feet. “Where do you get off ripping apart my clothes like that? I need those, you overgrown–”

Whatever clever insult he’d concocted is cut off as the man crosses the room and grabs his hair again. “Ah, ah, ah…” he hisses, cringing away. The man studies him with a puzzled expression, lifting a large finger to drag down Jack’s cheek. Jack squints up at him.

“Okay,” he says, allowing the man to lower him back to his knees, “maybe we got off on the wrong foot? We’re all human, aren’t we? Can you stop… can you stop stroking my face, it’s freaking me out.”

The man ignores him. His hand drops, traces circles on Jack’s neck, and then his shoulders. Jack squirms. This was definitely not on his agenda for the day. But the man still has a grip on his hair. Jack swears to himself that if he gets out of this alive and intact, he’s chopping it all off.

“Ouch,” the man mutters, making Jack jerk in surprise. He’s poking at the scabbed over scrape on Jack’s arm, one he’d obtained after taking a tumble down a hill a few days ago. Except it’s not scabbed over anymore–now it’s bleeding, just like his temple.

“Yeah, well,” he says. His voice is a little strained, but can anyone blame him? This giant is yanking out his hair!

The man releases him and Jack slumps with relief. He watches with trepidation as he turns to one of the drawers and takes out a few rolls of bandages and some rubbing alcohol. Stumped, Jack just stares while the man unscrews the cap… and then dumps it all over Jack’s arm.

Jack’s too shocked to scream at first, and then the pain shoots up his arm straight to his head. He’s already arching his back and falling sideways, but the man grabs his shoulder and keeps him upright. He stops for a second, frowning at Jack like screaming was an entirely unprecedented reaction.

Jack struggles for air as he blinks back tears. “Some warning would have been nice–” he starts to say, but the man grabs one of the rolls of bandages and shoves it into his mouth. Jack chokes on the material but his voice is stifled and his airflow is cut off. The man pulls Jack to an upright position before nodding and using the other bandages to bind Jack’s wound. He then frowns at Jack’s temple where he’d smashed him against the counter. Jack closes his eyes. The sting hurts, but he’s had some time to prepare now. The man keeps his chin in his strong grip but his other hand is gentle as he cleans the wound and sticks a butterfly bandage on it.

Satisfied with his work, the man stands and puts his things away before returning to Jack. Jack stares at him, a bit baffled as to why he was treating him this way. The man sits down in front of him and resumes stroking Jack’s chest, barely noticing when Jack tries to pull away. He’s individually tracing all the scars Jack has accumulated over the years, zombie apocalypse or otherwise. Jack grunts a protest that is, of course, swallowed by his makeshift gag. The man traces lower. And lower. And Jack is getting the feeling that he knows what’s coming, but even yanking himself backwards does nothing but ensure that the man snatches a handful of his hair again.

Jack’s muffled terrified sob makes the man stop, just for a second, to stare in confusion at him. He pats his cheek twice and plants a kiss on his forehead. Jack sits stone still as he turns his attention to his jeans, staring straight ahead. And that’s how he spots Eugene.

His–boyfriend? Partner? Traveling companion?–looks a bit enraged as he hefts Jack’s trusted cricket bat on his shoulder. Jack’s wide eyes fix on him and only him as Eugene darts forward and cracks the bat against the man’s head. Jack cringes away as the man roars in rage, turning towards Eugene with promise of retribution. Eugene’s having none of that, though. He swings again, smacking the man straight in the chest. Then he takes another shot at his head, and this time when the man goes down he stays down.

Jack has to work not to burst into tears right then and there, but he’s shaking as Eugene drops the bat and crashes to his knees, easing the bandage roll out of Jack’s mouth. “Are you okay?” he demands, running his hands over Jack’s face and brushing his bangs out of his eyes. Somehow, when he does it, it feels a whole lot better.

Jack nods, though he can’t really get any words out. Eugene’s eyes are dark and a bit ferocious. Jack’s never seen this side of protectiveness before. He’d like it a lot more if he hadn’t been the cause of such worry.

“You didn’t come back and I heard you scream and–” Eugene’s voice cracks. “I’m so sorry. I would’ve been here sooner, but I couldn’t find W.G., and–” He clenches his jaw shut, shaking his head. He reaches around, but Jack can’t tell if it’s because he wants to hug him or just untie him. The belt loosens and Jack brings his arms around to he can clutch Eugene to him.

“S'all good,” he says, and his voice is a bit hoarse because bandages work wonders sucking all the saliva from your mouth. “You totally came to the rescue, man, I’m so proud of you!”

“Figured I’d return the favor for all the times you saved my ass,” Eugene says, pulling away with a small smile. “How’d I do?”

“Brilliantly,” Jack promises.

The man groans and grunts from the floor, and they freeze. Eugene grimaces. “We should maybe leave.”

“Agreed.”

They take the med kit before they jet, though.


End file.
